AH1:DCaa
From Create Your Own Story
Michel was still staring lividly at himself in the bathroom mirror. He was holding as many superstitions of a change in the expression as possible. It helped him to imagine a separate person to accompany him in the light of any sudden changes to what was reflected, who would definitely communicate whatever came back at him as dryly as possible. There had been a lot of volatility in his dreams, particularly when it came to looking through windows and such. Not out of keeping with his regular habits: whenever he had the opportunity, his imagination liked to reshape drapery into muscly caricatures in a darker room. To him this was a direct analogy to other ways he wasted time.
The rain almost projected itself indoors, frequently interrupting this meditation. His face would occasionally lope forward into the sink and he was steadying himself around the basin. He would be caught up in rituals of feigned character even when on his own, tracing small spots of sheared skin on his hands and massaging the thin, circular plates on both sides of his forehead.
It was dark outside. The mystery from the balcony at this time of night was very beautiful to him. It pointed down from a sheer slope from a cedar forest and looked into a net of trees. It made the house look ugly and unimportant, and Michel couldn't disagree that the house was ugly, but it was where he preferred to live. When the rain was swirling his hair outside, he'd wrung out the smell of coal tar from the fire in the abbess in the forest earlier today where he was cooking dinner.
A small shield passant on a tricolor was hanging overhead. It was dancing in signs, and it imposed the lay of the land with a rhythmic image. Its butcher's eye would keep still into the future and watch sturgeon in the fast water. Some other scavengers lived near the old stone bridge, pulling what scams they could.
Of course, it was due to the fact in nature there was no ease of abundance. All those scavengers and scammers lived in a strange dream, which Michel considered a normal state of being, perhaps one he wasn't privy to but without it he believed he'd live second-to-second with a garland beneath where he sat staring into the far distance. So he started to his feet to continue following the river.
Michel stooped to the stream and alongside the water vole cesspools built on banks of grey grit near a field of forage maize, towards the joining of the eastern and western stream. It got heavy and deep. Farther on down Michel met the stream again over a turnstile in the tilled field where the stream wasn't at its harshest and someone could cross over it.
